"And to the shops in the Piazza San Marco, where the pictures are of the saints."
"Well?"
"Little father, I can find no one of the saints so beautiful as that one in England that the Master Calabressa knows."
Calabressa laughed again.
"Allons, mon grand enfant! Tell him that if it is only a likeness he is hunting for, I can show him one."
With that he took out from his breast-pocket a small pocket book, opened it, found a certain photograph, and put it on the table, shoving it over toward Kirski. The dim-eyed Russian did not dare to touch it; but he stooped over it, and he put one trembling hand on each side of it, as if he would concentrate the light, and gazed at this portrait of Natalie Lind until he could see nothing at all for the tears that came into his eyes. Then he rose abruptly, and said something rapidly to Edwards.
"He says, 'Take it away, or you will make me a thief. It is worth more than all the diamonds in the world.'"
Calabressa did not laugh this time. He regarded the man with a look in which there was as much pity as curiosity.
"The poor devil!" he said. "Tell him I will ask the beautiful saint whom he worships so to send him a portrait
of herself with her own hands. I will. She will do as much as that for her friend Calabressa."